Triad
by vegetables
Summary: It would've been a ménage à trois, except the past wouldn't allow it. - Sherry, Wesker, Steve.


**Triad**

When Sherry turns thirteen, the girl realizes she sort of doesn't like Claire anymore.

Faded, Claire's face doesn't always register, but Sherry still remembers their last moments together on the outskirts of Raccoon City. They were bleeding—all three of them—and Leon, who was holding Sherry back from chasing after Claire, spoke with a kind of fury not often heard. Claire's rejection, her refusal to stay with them, hurt Leon just as much as it hurt Sherry.

None of it matters now, though. Sherry no longer dwells on the abandonment. She prefers her life with Albert.

#

Steve is infected with something, but he forgets the details, because he spends most of his time thinking about Claire.

Steve pretty much hates everyone, and that includes Sherry and Albert. They're both fucking mental cases, and he's pretty sure there's this weird pseudo-pedophiliac vibe between them, and it totally creeps out Steve, because Sherry is, like, eight years-old or something.

He misses Claire. He's imagined their entire lives together, which is pathetic, especially for someone who, prior to Rockfort Island, often made multiple pledges a day about severing any and all ties to the world, because people generally suck. But, Claire is different. Claire is practically Wonder Woman. Both their asses look good in constricting material and, even though Steve doesn't want to admit it, he's totally cool with having a woman save him, so long as the woman is aesthetically pleasing.

Sherry and Albert irritate Steve, because they never fucking stop to take a moment and consider everything that makes Claire wonderful. They both hate her, and Steve thinks that's lame.

Sometimes, the virus within Steve makes him feel funny. (He eventually remembers it's called the T-Veronica, because that name is used in those shitty Archie Comics, and he hates those motherfucking things but can't help looking at them when he's waiting in line at the grocery store.) Albert has been outlining everything about the virus to Steve for several months, but Steve initially failed to care until he found out he could kick shit, and it'd just break into pieces like he was the Incredible Hulk.

Steve doesn't know why he often finds himself making so many comic book references. Comic books are shitty and so are the characters.

Except Wonder Woman, of course.

#

Sherry is an only child, so she figures it's natural to think of Steve in a sibling type of fashion. But, it's more like a younger brother than an older one, because Steve isn't exactly the poster boy for maturity. But, that's part of the reason Sherry enjoys spending time with him. They're warming up to each other, and Steve no longer whines about every aspect of his life. Best of all, Sherry and Steve are evenly matched when it comes to word play, even if Steve's quips are more laughable than impressive. At least he's entertaining.

Sherry spends her days with a private tutor. Steve spends his days watching documentaries on television.

It's their routine to exchange the abnormalities of their daily events.

When Sherry arrives home from her lessons one day, she kicks off her shoes near the door and informs Steve: "I'm pretty sure my female tutor is trying to sleep with me, and she's definitely even older than Albert."

Steve shakes his head. He clearly has experienced worse throughout the day. "I was watching this show about child birth, and I saw a doctor use this plunger-like tool on a baby's head, and they literally, like, plunged that fucker right out of the woman's vagina."

"Gross," Sherry says.

"I know, right?"

They play Monopoly until Albert comes home.

Real family is a sore subject for Sherry. She wants to remember her mother and father fondly, but she can't. They weren't good parents, and she refuses to let nostalgia mask all the pain she endured as a child. Discovering her father ignored her in favor of a deadly virus that had, ironically, caused his demise and the entire destruction of their hometown, wasn't exactly a revelation that consoled her.

Albert isn't like that. He spends a lot of time working and a lot of time with Steve, but he's somehow always _there_. The three of them eat meals together. Albert teaches her how to cook. Albert fires her creepy lesbian tutor. Albert lends her books he thinks she'll enjoy.

Albert—_well_—he does stuff. Stuff Sherry's father never did.

It's nice.

#

Claire is still hot, but she's also really self-righteous.

Steve realizes this when they reunite six months after all that shit on Rockfort Island. It's a sweet reunion until the truth starts unveiling itself, and Albert is there, too, because he and Steve are infiltrating the same lab as Claire and her brother. A few bullets are fired, and a lot of physical altercations occur, but the main issue is not so much the fact Steve is magically alive and working for Albert—it's that Sherry's name is dropped multiple times, and Claire is devastated by Sherry's behind-the-scenes betrayal.

Claire doesn't like that Sherry is in Albert's custody—and, _okay_, maybe Steve isn't entirely comfortable with it, either—but it's not really Claire's place to start bitching about the great life she can give Sherry when Steve is convinced Claire has been living in a one-bedroom apartment with her brother and that weird woman whose last name is a fucking holiday.

"We're all wanted by Umbrella," Claire says.

Steve doesn't care, and Claire calls him a virus-infected freak, and Steve vows never to be on the same side as Claire.

After all of this, Steve finally manages to forge somewhat normal interactions with Sherry and Albert. With Sherry, their exchanges possess less bitterness and more understanding, and it's no longer about the convenience of her presence when they're venting about life.

With Albert, it's founded by familiarity. Albert has been training Steve to hone the virus within him and, even though Steve doesn't know exactly what that means, it's apparently working, because the virus isn't making him feel funny anymore.

Steve discovers power is really quite fantastic, and he wants to use it against Claire and her entire posse of peacekeepers. Albert tells him that's not entirely necessary, because they may be of some use in the future.

"Use?" Steve argues. "What _use_? They want to put a stop to everything you stand for, dumbass."

"They also want to destroy Umbrella. I find that useful."

Steve rolls his eyes and insists, "Can't _you _destroy Umbrella?"

"Perhaps," Albert comments.

Albert usually answers in that cryptic, vague way, and it annoys Steve. It bothers him that Albert doesn't just want to murder Claire's brother, because he's read a lot about Chris Redfield, and he knows Albert despises him _a lot_—just like Steve despises Claire.

However, Steve considers if the opportunity to murder Claire arises, he's going to be a little disappointed he's never slept with her. He still has a lot of sexual fantasies about Claire, and he figures it's because hatred can sometimes be channeled through lust. Or, even vice versa. Steve is also starting to think that's why Albert doesn't want to kill Chris.

"Are you fagging out on Chris Redfield, or something, you big queer?"

This isn't the first time Steve has made an accusation of the sort. Sherry asks a lot of questions about her parents, and Albert expresses no interest in talking about Annette; rather, he elaborates quite a bit on William, and it sometimes sounds like a fucking love story, to Steve.

Albert never shows any sign of apprehension when these questions are asked, so it doesn't surprise Steve when the man replies: "Your homophobia is not exactly your most charming quality, Steve."

"Well, it's completely valid. Faggots piss me off because they define themselves by their deviant sexual appetites. I mean, I like blowjobs, but I'm not gonna walk in a fucking blowjob pride parade every goddamn year."

"I'm fairly certain if such an event did exist, a majority of the male population _would _be there."

Steve frowns and doesn't talk to Albert for the rest of the day. He's convinced Albert is a total homo, and it makes him reevaluate every goddamn minute he's spent with the man within the past year. He then starts thinking about other possibilities that sort of involve himself, and _that_ really unnerves him.

So, Steve remembers his lust for Claire and immediately feels better.

#

Sherry is doing her homework when she catches Albert watching her.

She's chewing on the end of her pen, making faces at her math book and tapping her fingers against the wooden table. At first, Sherry thinks she has unintentionally annoyed Albert, whose been sitting in the living room, reading over some kind of document. But, when she stops, it allows Albert to realize she has noticed his stare, and he looks away. His return to normalcy doesn't hold any embarrassment, any startled jerk of the muscles, but it clearly has disturbed something unseen.

Albert has emotions. Sherry just _knows _this. Maybe he's a sociopath, but he's shown emotions in her presence, and it's been more than just anger and annoyance in regards to the Redfields and, occasionally, Steve.

Albert has a sense of humor, too, but it's sometimes hard to find. He'll smirk with malice at least once a day, but that small, barely visible twitch in his lips has occurred in other situations, as well. Memories of his humanity often cause the change, and Sherry sees this the most when she requests information about her father. If Steve is with them, he makes a point to throw out some rather bizarre sexual comments, but they only seem bizarre until Sherry considers the theories.

In retrospect, those theories make sense in moments like this—moments when Albert has no reason to look at her in a particular way—but it's not the possibility of what occurred in the past that scares her; it's the possibility of what could occur now.

Her lower stomach tightens, and her heart skips a beat. They had a phrase for this in elementary school.

_Butterflies_.

#

It's 2002, and Albert and Steve are planning to infiltrate a small Umbrella facility in Toronto. The facility has valuable documents concerning a new bio-weapon, and Albert knows Chris and crew have gotten wind of this, as well. Steve doesn't doubt he'll be running into Claire again, and he actually anticipates it with great delight.

Within the years Steve has been allied with Albert Wesker, there have been many reunions with Claire—instances carefully crafted by Albert to test loyalty—but Steve's allegiance has yet to falter.

"Ada is still at the headquarters," Albert reminds him. "If there's a problem, she'll be able to assist us from there."

Steve nods, and they part ways to search for the documents.

An hour or so later, after Steve has unsuccessfully found anything worthwhile down in the labs, he wanders upstairs, where he runs into Claire.

She's in an office, pillaging through filing cabinets with a flashlight clamped between her teeth. The lights are on in the room, so the whole scene looks laughable, to Steve. He strolls in with ease and amusement, slamming the door shut behind him and causing Claire to yelp. The flashlight drops from her mouth, landing on the floor and rolling under one of the desks.

"S-Steve!" she proclaims, and it's the same tone she's been using for the last four years they've been having these strange encounters.

"Do you really think Umbrella would just store their data in a file cabinet?" he debates with a raised brow.

Claire stumbles to her feet. "What are you even doing here?" she demands. It's a dumb question, of course, but it fills her otherwise speechless condition.

"Looking for information on the T-A.L.O.S. project; same as you," he tells her, shrugging.

When he begins to stroll across the room toward Claire, she reacts. Her hands reach for the holster at her side, and she draws her gun, pointing it at Steve with defense. She knows it's useless against his strength, but it at least stops him. Steve assures her he's not going to do any harm. Claire doesn't buy it and keeps her gun drawn.

"You're here with Wesker, aren't you?"

"As always," Steve informs. "Ada is helping us this time, as well. Too bad your friend, Leon, has long moved on from wallowing in Umbrella's catastrophes. Otherwise, this could be fun."

"At least his line of work is admirable," Claire seethes.

Steve shrugs again. "Well, he certainly didn't do a very good job taking care of Sherry."

Mentioning Sherry is always the best way to bait Claire and, even now, it certainly works. Claire's grip on her gun tightens, and she opens her mouth to say something violent, rash and angry.

It doesn't happen, though, because lights begin to flash around the room, and the electric door makes a _click_-sound that only means one thing.

Since Steve has previously made the assessment to Albert that headsets are for pussies, it's quite unfortunate that he has no way to communicate with him, but Claire is already freaking out. She's panicking, making hasty conclusions about how Chris and Jill must be dead, because Wesker finally decided it was the right time to kill them.

Her nerves settle when she uses some fancy device to get in touch with her brother.

"Did you set something off?" she asks, not accusatory but a little surprised. She nods to herself when Chris says something on the other line. "I guess it's a silent alarm, then. This isn't one of Umbrella's larger facilities; they're probably not going to respond to it right away."

Steve watches her expressions carefully. It's especially interesting to observe further panic on her face when her brother clearly asks if she's in any kind of danger. Her eyes flash toward Steve, and she worries her lip. Steve is somewhat taken aback when Claire lies.

"No, I'm fine," she claims. "I'm just stuck in some office."

Claire agrees to contact Chris if anything happens, and she places the device back in her pocket.

"The sanctimonious Claire Redfield lies to her brother, now?" Steve simpers.

Claire just narrows her eyes at him. "Shouldn't you be contacting Wesker?"

"No headset," he reveals.

Claire is pointing her gun at Steve again, but she lets him sit at the desk. She keeps her focus, watching Steve with never-ending suspicion. Steve doesn't have a reason to murder her, she figures, which is relieving, but it's also unsettling how Steve suddenly refuses to talk to her and thinks it's okay to just be casual by sitting at the goddamn desk and looking at the paperwork scattered everywhere.

They don't know how much time has passed but, eventually, Steve begins folding papers at the desk. He's neatly ripping off a few inches so he can accomplish his task, which is to make as many fortune tellers as possible. Claire doesn't know why he's doing this—and it bothers her—but she's watching him fold paper after paper, stacking them upon one another until she screams at him to stop, because he's being ridiculous, and their situation isn't funny.

"Obviously," he remarks, dryly.

"You're just as deranged as Wesker, you know that?"

Steve looks up at Claire. She's standing in front of him now, gun still pointed, and it almost feels strange to see such much resentment in her eyes. She hates everything amoral and, long ago, Steve could relate to that. But, he's different now, and he knows that every time Claire looks at him, she sees the person she cannot help, the person she wanted to save but simply couldn't. She's never met Sherry face-to-face since Raccoon City, and it makes Steve consider just how emotional it would be for Claire.

"Stop being so damn quiet!" Claire yells, because Steve obviously has taken too long to answer.

Her tone aggravates Steve, so he snatches the gun from Claire, throwing it across the room and never leaving his position from the swivel chair. It just looks so easy, Claire quickly thinks, before she remembers she's angry, and she lunges for him.

Albert has taught Steve how to control his rage, but it's instances like this when Steve lets loose, and he decides to fight back with just as much anger as Claire.

Steve pushes Claire to the floor, and they're brawling in a fashion that's sort of typical for them after so many encounters. As usual, Claire is losing, and Steve isn't going easy on her, but she's certainly not giving up, either.

Claire reaches for a knife from her boot and tries to impale Steve's shoulder. Unfortunately, for her, Steve knocks the weapon out of her hands and grabs hold of both her wrists. He pins them above her head with one hand and uses his other to choke her. He can feel Claire's throat tightening as she loses air, and she's worming beneath his body in panic. She kicks her legs, but it does no good. Somehow, her legs position themselves against his hips. When she squirms upward, Steve pauses and so does Claire.

It's momentarily awkward, but they're heaving and glaring and, soon, kissing.

Television always told Steve this was normal. Serial dramas with a large, lively cast depict this as the only reasonable solution. Characters trapped in elevators, characters trapped in cabins during horrific storms. They screwed each other as some kind of homage to life and death. They assumed it was over, and they wanted to spend their remaining time on earth pursuing wild, suppressed passion.

Maybe Claire and Steve aren't convinced they're going to die in this stupid little lockdown, but they still follow through with sensationalism's obligation.

_They fuck_.

It isn't Steve's first time, and he knows it isn't Claire's, either. Somewhere, there are memories of another lifetime—life before Rockfort Island—and Steve remembers clumsy hands against a padded bra, whimpers from the girl who smoked Marlboros near the football field every morning before the first bell rang. They had history class together. Steve tolerated her enough to talk to her. Tolerated her enough to fuck her when she begged for it one day after school. Beneath him, she sounded too desperate, mewling like a dying animal, and Steve had been rough simply out of spite. It hadn't been spectacular, and he was disgusted that her mouth tasted liked tobacco and stagnant saliva.

With Claire, it feels different. It's spontaneous, sure, but their bodies aren't entirely inept. They move with knowledge and touch with sincerity. Claire's mouth feels desperate, but so does Steve's, and they're working with one another in bodies that feel taut, needy and sad.

When it's over, Claire feels ashamed, and Steve can see the guilt written on her flushed, sweaty face. He has spent the last few years loathing Claire Redfield, damning her name to anyone willing to listen. But, he never forgets his original infatuation with her, and that's why he looks at her now with heated lust, lingering devotion he wants to chase again and again.

So, he does.

Steve grabs her chin and kisses her neck. He pushes against her and forces her to feel the need in his body. Claire's rigid and unresponsive, but she soon clings to him. At some point, she starts to cry. Steve knows she's sad, and not because she believes they're going to be trapped in this office forever, or something. She's sad because of how much she wants this, how much she wishes it were permanent. Yet, she still moans during every brutal, impending claim. Steve's mostly quiet. He just watches her, watches as she refuses to open her eyes and look at him. While Claire's emotions consume her, Steve feeds her responses with violent thrusts and clutches. Her teeth dig into his shoulder, and the air between them feels hot and thick.

When they climax—Claire first, Steve seconds later—the girl laments with apologies, pleads for Steve to stop this terrible war between them. It isn't like her. Steve hates her desperation. She's having a breakdown, and she continues to cry even when he pulls away from her, cleaning himself off and straightening his clothes. Steve can't even see her face as she buries it into her hands, pushing away the hair that wants to stick to her face with sweat and tears. She's a wreck, and Steve has gone back to sitting at the desk.

Another thirty minutes pass, and they don't touch each other. Claire is done crying, but she's clutching to her gun again. Briefly, Steve wonders if she's going to kill herself. He debates whether he wants to stop her.

Two hours later, the power goes out, and the electronic locks click off in a dreadful, ironic twist of fate that fails to surprise either of them. It's typical, they decide—maybe simultaneously—but Claire makes the first move to leave the office. Her hair and clothes are no longer unkempt, and Steve figures no one will really know how she's spent the lockdown.

"I'm sorry, Steve," she tells him, and it's amazing that she's finally acquired the courage to look him in the eye.

Steve is still sitting at the desk, and he's finishing another fortune teller. His eyes meet hers, but they're empty of all the emotions Claire possesses.

So, he says, "It's not a big deal." Then, he smiles, but it's not happy. It's just shrewd and cunning and demeaning.

Claire looks at him a while longer before breaking her gaze—_hurt_—and, finally, she leaves the office. Her footsteps echo for several seconds until they fade away. She's gone, and she's looking for Chris and Jill.

Steve keeps making fortune tellers until Albert finds him in the office.

"Ada cut the power to release the locks," he informs Steve. "Have you been here the whole time?"

The younger man stands up, hands still busy with paper. "Yep," he answers.

"I'm sure Chris and the others are long gone by now," Albert tells him. "There's no point in staying here. I have what we need."

"Fine," Steve says, and he throws his unfinished fortune teller onto the desk.

#

Sherry is seventeen when Umbrella finally collapses. It's 2003, and some incident in Russia has caused major public disclosure about the company's real doings.

It's at this point Sherry decides to let go of every reservation concerning whether she wants to join Albert Wesker's line of work.

By 2006, she works in the labs as part of her higher education, provided by a private instructor.

Every now and then, Albert provides information about Leon and Claire. Currently, Claire works for an organization named TerraSave. Leon is still busy as a government agent. Sherry is particularly educated in the details of the latter, and it's attributed to the events in Spain that caused Albert to cut ties with Ada Wong.

Sherry never knew much about Ada, but it's strange not seeing her around. She was always just appearing at random intervals, assisting in missions and walking around in high-heels. But, Ada's betrayal only results in a short-lived crisis. Albert receives a sample of Las Plagas from someone else, someone much different than Ada. Someone named Ricardo Irving.

And, honestly, Ricardo Irving is a strange man.

Albert only interacts with him when it's absolutely necessary, and Steve avoids him at all cost. Sherry, on the other hand, finds Ricardo amusing. He's undeniably interested in Sherry, and she's known about this since their first encounter. Typically eccentric, Ricardo's peculiarity vanishes whenever Sherry is within eyesight.

He watches her movements with great intent, pushing in his lips every time she crosses her legs, every time she leans forward to fetch something out of her reach. Sherry can practically feel his lust emitting from his body when she's in close proximity, but Ricardo has never dared to touch her. He assumes Sherry is Albert's daughter, and Ricardo is scared of Albert Wesker.

Sherry mentions this to Steve one day, and they have a good laugh about it. Steve encourages her to exploit Ricardo's attraction, make him loyal to them with hints of possibilities that, in reality, will remain unattainable. It's still funny when Sherry agrees, but she has plenty of uncertainties when the time finally arrives.

Ricardo occupies an office on the upper-level of the facility. It's messy in there—hardly dusted—and the surface of his desk is covered in papers that look anything but professional. Scribbles, mostly—but Sherry knows it all makes sense to Ricardo. He's bizarre, and that tends to catch his clients off guard. He's halfway through making a deal over the phone when Sherry enters with a tray of food.

He stops midsentence when he sees her. Sherry's take on this game is subtle, and she's not dressed in the most obvious manner. A blue ponte dress was appropriate for the current climate, but Ricardo never considers the weather—he just sees Sherry's long legs, her well-structured shoulders and collarbone, the evenness of the fabric against her hips. She's fucking gorgeous, he thinks; a temptress sent to drive him into madness.

Sherry sets the tray on the desk, and Ricardo collects himself long enough to finish the deal. The client is trying to bargain with him, but he becomes especially uncompromising in the presence of Sherry. Sherry doesn't know which virus or weapon he's selling, but the buyer eventually agrees on the minimum figure, and Ricardo hangs up the phone.

"It's almost noon," Sherry voices, nonchalant. "I figured you'd probably want something to eat."

She pushes the tray forward. Ricardo swallows and hooks his finger around the collar of his shirt, pulling at it. Sherry knows he doesn't realize he's doing it, and this makes her smile.

Ricardo doesn't take his eyes off Sherry as he reaches for the plate of bread. He eats it, timidly, and Sherry moves away from the desk to look out the window. She can feel his gaze on her back, among other places.

They begin an empty conversation, one that ranges from the weather to current events to their preference between jelly and butter on bread. Sherry prefers butter. Ricardo prefers jelly.

Everything is suddenly more awkward than when it started. Sherry figures if that's the case, then nothing can quite be worse. She makes her way to the desk, leaning against the drawers to Ricardo's right. She smirks at him, charming in that youthful type of way.

Ricardo dusts the crumbs off from his hands and bites his bottom lip. Sherry's close. _Too close_. She's doing that thing with her legs again—crossing them at her calves and rotating the position back and forth so the hem on her dress moves just the slightest bit each time—and, _fuck_, this was probably really illegal. What was the age of consent these days? How the fuck old was Sherry, anyway? And, fucking _hell_, why did she have to be Albert Wesker's pure and untouchable daughter?

He's been over this a million times in his head, and it always seemed so impossible until now. Because—_well_—now, Sherry is moving forward, leaning down in his direction and looking at him with deep, beautiful amusement.

Their lips are centimeters apart; Sherry can feel his breath, and she's momentarily entranced by the idea of kissing him. She knows he's desperate, she knows he _wants _her, and it feels good to be wanted, even if it's strictly a physical desire that could just as easily burn out as it did ignite. She moves closer—_almost there_—and, abruptly, Ricardo pulls away and hollers. Sherry flinches and moves back, and she watches Ricardo's eyes widen in fear. He's not looking at her. Instead, he's looking past her, toward the doorway, and Sherry turns, too, and sees Albert.

"Jesus Christ, I didn't do anything!" Ricardo yells, and he jumps from his chair—back pressed against the wall, his arms covering his face in a pathetic defensive. "It was _her_! _Fuck_."

Sherry flushes, humiliated. She opens her mouth to say something, but Albert isn't reacting. In fact, he doesn't even say anything as he walks into the office, placing down a manila folder on Ricardo's desk.

"Excella wants to talk to you," he tells Ricardo.

The younger man keeps recoiling, but he lowers his arms from his face. "If you're going to kill me, just do it now!" he pleads, nervously, and his voice is shaking.

Ricardo can't see Albert's eyes, but he knows he's staring at him from beneath those goddamn sunglasses. It's terrifying, and Ricardo can't deal, so he leaps from his spot, running past the man and out into the hall, where he continues to swear.

"He thinks you're my father," Sherry explains, and there's a great measure of composure within her voice, more than she expected to pull off. She's still embarrassed, and she wants to offer Albert more clarification. "This was Steve's idea, by the way."

Albert makes a gesture of dismissal. "You're free to pursue whomever you want," the man states, and it's strange how unbalanced his tone sounds in comparison to Sherry's.

The girl frowns and wonders if she's disappointed him. "I'm not really interested in him," she admits, shamefully. "I feel kind of bad for him, actually. So… I don't know why I did that. Goddammit, Steve."

Sherry sighs, heavily, and reaches for the tray on the desk. Albert stops her by placing a hand on her shoulder. She stiffens and turns to look at him.

"I'll get back to the lab," she insists, convinced he is still disappointed by how she chose to spend her free time.

But, the disappointment is not written on his face. Sherry can read Albert well, despite how carefully the man arranges his expressions. Even with his sunglasses covering his eyes, Sherry knows he's in deep thought. His hand is still on her shoulder, and they're not talking. They're just _looking_.

Something immediately shifts between them. It's profound and intense, and only once has Sherry considered its existence. Then, there's that feeling again.

_Butterflies_.

She still can't believe the accuracy of the description, because it honestly feels like something is fluttering in her stomach, and it's unbelievably wretched in correlation to this moment. Albert has looked at her like this before, and it wasn't just that isolated moment when she was doing her homework. No, this is the look he gets when he's remembering his past, his humanity. When he's remembering Sherry's father, William Birkin.

Albert's thoughts are the same as hers, and she hates it. She pulls away. If it had lasted a second longer, Sherry knew where it would have led, and she won't allow it. _It's just wrong_. But, if Albert hadn't been disappointed moments earlier, she figures he is disappointed now.

Sherry is disappointed, too.

#

Later that night, Sherry fails to elaborate correctly on what happened with Ricardo. Instead, she twists the details and proclaims it was Excella who walked in with demands of wanting to speak with Ricardo, and Steve never questions the authenticity of the tale. She never thinks about—not even for a second—telling Steve about what happened with Albert. It's private, she decides; and, honestly, she wants to forget it, too. She wants to forget because the possibility of that relationship is off limits. It's wrong. Her father's memory is too important, to her.

"I have something to tell you," Steve then announces. "I mean, since we're talking about your failed seduction and all."

"I wasn't really trying to seduce him," Sherry reminds him, bitterly.

"Yeah, but… _Well_, I'm never going to find the right time again to talk about this, and it's fucking important, so—_just listen_, okay?" He drops eye-contact and pulls in his lips, debating how to start the next sentence. "This is a highly confidential confession, because, unless Albert can read minds, even he doesn't know."

"Oh."

Sherry's interest has been piqued, and she has no clue what could possibly cause for such a dramatic prologue to Steve's story.

But, instead of anything particularly earth shattering, Steve only confesses to what happened between Claire and him at the facility all those years ago. And, Sherry is extremely unimpressed.

"That's your big dark secret?" Sherry grunts. "You've been carrying that dumb burden around for almost three years? How pedestrian."

Steve glares and ups the mass hysteria by admitting he sometimes uses his teeth to peel off thin layers of skin from his lips. Bad habit, he explains. It's the kind of shit people do when they're nervous; the kind of shit _he does_ when he thinks about what he did with Claire. Sherry tells him that's gross, and he agrees.

"Anything else?" Sherry presses.

Steve shrugs and admits, "Oh, yeah, plenty. I have tons of skeletons in my closet."

"At least you're not lonely in there," Sherry says, and she smirks when Steve begins to turn red.

#

Sherry's initial joke about Steve's sexuality is groundless, but she pulls the bait for several months until she discovers Albert and Steve are sleeping together. She doesn't know why—or how, or when—it happened, but it's become pretty obvious. Since she's never been a fan of irony, the remarks are no longer funny, and she generally doesn't like thinking about what goes on between the two of them. It's too private, too intimate, and it only leads her to remember the one moment she shared with Albert. She's glad Steve doesn't know about it. Steve's emotional and, sometimes, unhinged—and, at this point, he would immediately arrive at the conclusion he was only a substitute. A substitute for the relationship Albert could not have with Sherry. And, maybe that was true. Because, quite frankly, Sherry knows she'd serve as a substitute for her father.

#

Albert knows Sherry and Steve are more than just useful, to him. It's not sentimental, and it's not an exposure of concealed emotions. It's just the expediency of their pasts. Somehow, the entangled tragedy remains secondary to the arrangement they've unearthed.

And, miraculously, this triad works.

**End**


End file.
